Imitation of Life
by Syntyche
Summary: ROTJ AU. Han Solo wakes up from carbonfreeze, but nothing is as he remembers it.
1. Tatooine

**Title:** Imitation of Life

**Author:** Syntyche

**Contact:** PG-13. A little gory violence, a little language, a lot of Corellian angst.

**Feedback:** will be cherished and adored. Please let me know you're reading the story, even if you hate it. Feedback is definitely an inducement to getting authors to post their work; writing is a labor of love, but who wants to share it with an unenthusiastic audience?

**Disclaimer:** Star Wars belongs to George Lucas, 21st Century Fox, and anyone else with legal claim to it. I am not making any money from this story.

**Synopsis:** Post RotJ, Han wakes up in Jabba's palace, but nothing is as he remembers it.

**Dedication:** to Darth Culf, feedback-sender extraordinaire, who has simply amazed me with unflagging reviews, and who shares my adoration for Han Solo and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Enjoy, Culf – I hope it is worth the wait. I'm sure you'll let me know. gThanks for all your efforts:-D

**Imitation of Life**

**By: Syntyche**

'This lightning storm, this tidal wave, this avalanche, I'm not afraid … ' 

Part One: Tatooine

What had been dark for so long suddenly became light. A bright, harsh light that hurt his eyes and struck at his mind. He remembered that he ought to close his eyelids, but realized belatedly they were already shut, squeezed tightly against the frightening reality that was his world, and now had been his world for a very long time. Longer, certainly, than mere days, but the minutes had ticked by in a slowness so deliberate and agonizing that soon after his encasement in carbonite, he had given up trying to keep track of anything but fighting down the swell of panic that threatened to engulf him in hysterical, futile struggles against his metal coffin when he tried to draw a breath and failed.

Try it. Stop breathing for a moment. Resist, if you can, the urge to breathe. How long can you hold on without taking a breath? He didn't have the option of continuing to breathe; he simply hung, suspended, between one breath and the next, eternally waiting for the life-giving oxygen that was being denied him. He was more dead than alive.

He had been carbonfrozen in the midst of a silent cry of pain, his breath choked off as his body was flash-frozen and immediately immersed in scalding molten metal, which had hardened around him even as he raised his hands in tortured protest.

Panic started to play about the edges of his thought again, and he quickly shut down the memory and returned his concentration to trying not to indulge in the vain, terrifying sensation of attempting to draw his next breath. Han Solo had realized that this inability to breathe would soon bring him near the breaking point of insanity, and sent another silent entreaty to follow the hundreds, perhaps thousands, that had gone before it: _Please come get me! Please!_

The addition of the final _please_ was new to the last few times he'd uttered the plea; it had been, he was sure, a very long time since his arrival on Tatooine – his mind, still functioning, assumed that was where he was, but as he was no longer in possession of any of his six senses, he had no way of verifying it – and Han, never having much faith in people's ability to remember or care for him, was beginning to doubt his friends were coming for him at all.

But Chewie, Chewie had to come, didn't he? Yeah, Chewie would .… if he could. Had Luke been able to survive Vader's snare on Cloud City? Lando …. ? Han mentally shook his head in disgust. How could he have been duped so easily into believing Lando had forgiven past debts? And what about Leia? She was in his every thought; she was his sanity. How he longed to hear her voice again, to see her girlish smile, and even be on the receiving end of one of her angry diatribes. But …. doubt was beginning to seep into the imprisoned Corellian's mind. Maybe she was free, but hadn't come because she didn't _want_ to. Maybe she remembered as he did, bitterly, that he had failed her that last day in Cloud City.

Han would have dropped his head in shame if his carbonite sarcophagus hadn't held him immobile. He released a mental sigh of despair. Perhaps he'd lied to Chewie. Perhaps there wouldn't be another time.

Grief welled in him, his lungs tightened with the thought of never seeing Leia again, and he was re-emerged in the battle not to draw breath.

He couldn't even cry new tears to replace the ones frozen in the corners of his eyes.

But now … light was searing into his world. He had almost forgotten what it was, and now it was reaching bright fingers against his tightly closed eyelids, hammering into his head, and the world was suddenly frighteningly cold as the metal slicked off his damp body, releasing him from his coffin and delivering him into a freedom he couldn't remember and didn't know what to do with. Han Solo was scared, scared of the way he had no control over his body as it fell to the floor, scared when, for a few moments, his body remembered without him the lesson he had tried to teach it so well, and refused to breathe.

_Breathe, Solo! C'mon, breathe, damn it!_ he begged, _please!_

Silence answered his plea until a harsh grating filled his ears, and it was a long, terrifying moment before he realized the sound was emanating from him: it was his body slowly trying to breathe. _Please_! he urged silently. His body began shivering uncontrollably, from fear as much as his system struggling to return to normal function. He began coughing, the harsh hacking of trying to dispel remnants of flaked metal from his lungs.

Hands were on him now, feeling, probing through his sweat-dampened shirt and contacting painfully with bruises that had refused to heal. The last hands he remembered touching him were the fierce gripping paws of Lando's ugnaught helpers and he was afraid of what was happening to him again, but his body resisted his mind's cry to struggle and he could only continue to shiver terribly and wait for the owner of the hands to identify itself in some way. Somewhere in his terror he realized that his eyes were no longer clenched shut, and he _still_ couldn't see. New panic surged over him, and he could hear the questions tumbling from his mouth, barely registering the rasping replies of his "rescuer." The thought that Jabba may have thawed him only to torment him anew flashed across his mind, and he reached for the other being desperately.

The great Han Solo's voice was small and scared, and faltered as he asked, "_Who are you_?"

His thoughts were so chaotic he wasn't sure if he'd asked the question in Corellian, Tillian, Basic, or any of the dozens of other languages he'd learned over the years, but he was rewarded with a reply that made him question whether or not he had finally gone insane from waiting for a rescue that wasn't really going to come.

"Someone who loves you," the new voice said softly, and Han could hardly believe his ears, could hardly think this wasn't some cruel joke. _Leia!_

"Leia," he breathed her name as if he'd despaired ever speaking it again. Then, more urgently, "Leia, I can't see."

"Shh," she shushed gently, soothing into place his tousled hair with a reassuring hand. "I've got something for your eyes. How do you feel?"

_Better, now that you're here_, sounded entirely too cliché. Han laughed shakily, his body still twitching spasmodically from the effects of the carbonite, and he leaned slowly into the gentle confines of Leia's arms. "Terrible, sweetheart," he admitted.

"Here. This should help, and it'll help your eyes." There was a whisper of rustling fabric and then a hypo stabbed his arm where Leia had pushed the sleeve up. Han frowned at the roughness of the injection, but made no complaint. He was content merely to be breathing. "I've got to get you out of here," she continued, moving her hands under his arms and helping him to stand upright. He nearly passed out from the wave of dizziness that rushed over him, but clung grimly to consciousness and reminded himself to breathe – to breathe, he could breathe again, and that was reason enough to keep moving. Jabba certainly hadn't taken any pains to have him released from his private prison – who knew if the big slug had enjoyed his new trophy so much, he wouldn't pay to have him encased again?

Han had no intention of finding out, and would have been perfectly satisfied never to know, but at that moment a curtain was swept aside from the far end of the room, and Han could hear laughing. One particular laugh rose above the others: Jabba.

"I know that laugh," he breathed miserably. The laughter was harsh and mocking, filling him with despair. He reached out to where Leia had been just a minute ago, to protect her if he could ….

Until she began to laugh, too.


	2. Tatooine

Imitation of Life 

By: Syntyche

Disclaimers in previous segment, author's comments below …….

I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who took a moment to review; I was wondering whether or not there were many Han fans here on ff.net due to lack of Solo-type fic – at least, when last I looked, there was a definite dearth, but it's been quite a while since I've had the chance to poke around. So, please, if anyone can recommend a Han fic on this site, let me know, either here in a review, or email me at obiwriter@yahoo.com. I'd appreciate it. :-)

And I do mean thanks for all the feedback so far; I'm a little nervous about posting this story, as it's my first attempt at Han fic. 

**Note:** I'm looking for a beta reader who would be interested in critiquing the remaining chapters of my TPM Rewrite …….. I had planned on posting the next chapter along with this segment, but I'd really prefer someone with an eye for detail and continuity, and honest critiquing skills, to beta for me. The main character is Obi-Wan Kenobi, TPM timeframe; the rating is PG-13/R, for violence mainly. If anyone is interested in helping, please email me at obiwriter@yahoo.com. Thanks very much! :-)

*~*~*~*~*~

He remembered nothing that had elapsed since Leia's cruel laughter echoed in his ears. A swell of dizzy blackness had overtaken him then, and he wondered if there had been more in Leia's hypo than just medicine. His Corelli senses were disturbingly silent, and Han was quickly disabused of the notion of trying to utilize them when his first attempt left his head spinning violently. 

As near as he could tell by the oppressive dampness of the air and the claustrophobic nearness of cold, stone wall surrounding him, he was underground – most likely in Jabba's dungeon, he surmised. He found that he was sweating profusely, and his teeth were chattering; and he was extremely cold. And that he couldn't _breathe_. Panic seized his chest and he struggled to sit upright, but tight bands across his arms and chest prevented any movement. _Slow, Solo!_ he tried to tell his body, but it revolted against him in fear and blind panic. His struggles overwhelmed him, and darkness overtook him. 

He was a bit calmer when he awoke next. Han found that if he put all his energy into concentrating, he could take tiny, shallow breaths to satisfy his need to breathe. It was still dark, and he couldn't tell if he was blind from the hibernation sickness or if it was just space black in the room. He wondered if Leia's supposed antidote would work and he would see again. 

Han shivered, wishing he could curl in on himself to bring some sense of warmth to his abused body. He could hear his ragged, shallow breathing, feel the throbbing pain of his body remembering the bruises and electroshock … 

His heart started to pound at the memory, and he forced his thoughts away, continuing slowly on his physical assessment. A few scrapes and some startlingly tender bruises – including a large one across his shoulder blades where one of Cloud City's guards had struck him after he'd hit Lando. However, nothing was broken but the unhealed scabs on his chest from Vader's mock-interrogation that his bindings had rubbed raw again.

Sometime later, as he drifted in and out of sleep and vague dreams of Leia, a door hissed open, startling him into alertness, but no light entered his vision and Han tensed. So the medication hadn't worked. The air shifted and settled as Han heard and felt a body stop by the hard slab he was bound to. Han didn't speak, didn't move, tried not to breathe until he remembered and fear began to creep over him. He started, and heard a soft chuckle as his body jerked. 

"Ssssssolo." The voice was immeasurably pleased, but abruptly became sharp. "Open your eyess."

He wanted to say, _I'm blind, you damned idiot, so it won't do either of us any good_, but found that if he put strength he didn't think he had into it, he actually could open his eyes. A tiny sliver of light illuminated one corner of his tiny cell, but the remainder of the room possessed a pervading sense of claustrophobia. Han shuddered, but kept his eyes open.

"Good." His visitor, a green-scaled, reptilian biped employed as one of the Hutt's guards, continued harshly, "Follow me."

Han let out a short breath of laughter that was immediately followed by a fit of coughing. He would have doubled over but his bindings secured him to the slab and increased the tightness in his chest. Finally the coughing subsided, and he lay back, gasping for breath. 

"In case you haven't noticed," he struggled to say, "I'm not going anywhere." He glared pointedly at his bindings and then scornfully at Jabba's guard.

The lizard-guard seemed particularly nonchalant as he pressed a button on the side of Han's bed – a button, the Corellian noted muzzily, his head swimming from lack of oxygen, that was tantalizingly close to his own long-fingered reach. The restraints slid off. 

Han raised himself to his elbows, ignoring the pain in his chest. "Why should I go anywhere with you, Lizard-face?" 

The lizard's idea of laughter hissed through its teeth. "Becausse you have no choice."

"Try me." Han said flatly. 

Lizard-face produced a blaster, which he waved threateningly in Han's direction. Han was singularly unimpressed and refused to move. 

"Jabba wishes to speak with you, Sssssolo."

"Yeah?" Han retorted shortly, "So tell His Sliminess to slither on down here himself, cause I sure ain't expending the energy to go up to see him." Privately, he wasn't even sure he had energy to expend.

"That is unacceptable."

"Well, you have no choice," Han paraphrased the guard's earlier words cheerfully. "'Cause I ain't moving and I doubt you could carry me."

Lizard-face was not amused. "Have you no compassion for your friendsss, Ssolo?" 

Han remembered Leia's mocking laughter; more devastating than anything Jabba's guards could throw at him. His false cheerfulness disintegrated. "I have no friends." 

"The Wookiee?"

_Chewie_. _Ah, Chewie_. Despite himself, Han was tired and confused, and a little bit vulnerable. "Chewie?"

"Will you see Jabba for the sssake of your Wookiee?" the lizard asked, making no attempt to mask the smugness in his voice, and was pleased to see the Corellian's show of strength crumble. The Corellian's pale face, however, took on a determined expression as he pushed himself up.

Han forced his unwilling body into a sitting position … and nearly passed out from the wash of dizziness that crashed over him. Lizard-face clicked his tongue disgustedly and grabbed at Han's arms, pulling them behind him and cinching a pair of manacles tight on his wrists. _He needn't have bothered_, Han thought waspishly, _I'm not much of a threat right now_. Still, he was impressed Jabba considered him enough of a danger to need restrained.

The guard Han had come to think affectionately of as 'Lizard-face' began walking, gesturing for Solo to follow. Han growled low in his throat, swallowed hard, and levered himself to his feet. Sheer stubbornness kept him there and coupled with defiance to keep him moving, but each step was a reminder of a reality that was now painful in more than just a physical sense. His thoughts returned to Leia. What had happened to her? Could it have been one of Jabba's Twi'lek girls, imitating Leia? But how could he mistake her voice? And how would Jabba know about the princess? Had his friends already tried to rescue him and failed? Was Chewie really here?

Jabba would have the answers, and Han was determined to get them. Grimly, he kept moving. 


	3. Tatooine

Imitation of Life

By: Syntyche

Disclaimers, rating, and any other useful information located in the first chapter of the story.

Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story thus far; writing is a labor of love, but feedback is the triple chocolate icing on the cake and will be as adored and cherished as Han Solo. (siiiiigh) Which is to say, a lot.

Thanks for your patience.

He'd never been through the lower levels of Jabba's before, and as he followed Jabba's lizard guard past cells and various rooms whose purposes were obvious, Han was filled with a sort of sick revulsion by the fact that he'd done business with Jabba and was galactically associated with the worm-ridden hulk by reason of the rather large bounty placed on his head by the Hutt. He and Chewie had been pretty hard up for money when they'd had to approach Jabba, but now Han found himself wondering if perhaps they couldn't have searched a little harder for another way to earn the necessary credits.

They reached a flight of rough-hewn rock stairs just as Han thought his capacity to walk was finally exhausted. _Just a little farther, _he coaxed his tired muscles, and slowly climbed the stairs behind Lizard-face.

The shaft of light that shot through the door Lizard-face opened assaulted his vision and he squeezed his eyes shut hurriedly, then opened them again just as quickly to force himself to adapt to the brightness. He blinked a few times, and realized the light was coming from a window in the ceiling, shining down into the "throne room," and he remembered that he had been in this room before – he'd just never seen it from this angle. The dark room was full to bursting with the hive of scum and villainy that was the little part of the underworld under Jabba's fat thumb, and on the raised dais he had rarely moved from in years was Jabba, his wide lips set in a grotesque grin. His chief aide, the Twi'lek Bib Fortuna, stood by his side, and his pet, the cackling monkey-lizard Salacious Crumb, sat at his usual place before Jabba, waiting to catch any crumbs that might fall from the Hutt's clumsy grasp.

Han would have preferred another moment to observe everything in the obscurity of the darkened doorway, but his lizard-guard caught his elbow and shoved him forward roughly into the middle of the room. Han stumbled in his exhaustion and landed on his knees in front of Jabba's dais. The crowd in the room roared with mocking laughter and jeers, and Jabba's laughter boomed above the rest. Flushing red with shame and anger, Han struggled to his feet before the Hutt.

"Ssssolo." The Hutt was pleased.

Han was tired of hearing his name said in such a drawn out fashion.

"Jabba," he replied evenly, but his body was trembling with exhaustion, humiliation – and a terrible fear that Jabba would find a way to return him to his carbonite prison. Han struggled to get his breathing under control, and he knew he was pale under the bright light. "Where's Chewie?"

Jabba laughed again, and his pet monkey took this as a sign he should laugh as well, a hideous high-pitched cackle that assaulted Han's ears and grated on his already jittery nerves.

"Detained," the Hutt said succinctly, "but well. Your concern should be for yourself at present, Solo."

Han was pleased that his tired brain was functioning well enough to automatically translate the Huttese words. He ignored Jabba's suggestion and instead asked, "What about Leia?"

"I'm here, Han." The Princess answered his question herself. Han felt his jaw drop at her attire, a maroon and gold bikini-dress that he'd never in a million years believe his princess would willingly wear. His eyes closed involuntarily. Too much was happening too fast. A cough quivered in his throat and he tried to squelch it. "Leia?"

She smiled coldly and returned to the shadows behind Jabba. The Hutt laughed at Han's disbelieving expression and Han quickly snapped his mouth shut. He was slowly swaying on his feet, his sense of balance shot, and the cough that continued to tickle at his throat distracted him.

He tried to push Leia and his confusion from his mind and focus on things he was sure of – but there wasn't a whole lot right now. He had his senses, but what wasn't already useless he was beginning to doubt.

"What do you want, Jabba?" He tried to keep the tiredness from his voice, but it was getting difficult as the hibernation sickness began to overcome Leia's dissipating antidote. He knew that he didn't have anything to bargain with. He thought of Leia's chilly smile, could see her dim outline standing just behind Jabba, and wondered briefly whether he oughtn't just provoke Jabba into killing him outright.

Jabba clenched a fat fist. "I want the credits you cost me, Solo! I paid a good deal for you," the Hutt added petulantly, as if Han was supposed to be impressed at the bounty he'd carried. Han put on his most disinterested look and said nothing.

"Well …" the Hutt mulled slowly, a calculating smile spreading across his mouth as he grinned at Han, "I could work it out of you, Solo." He paused, considering, and watching the Corellian's expression carefully added almost nonchalantly, "Or just sell you. To the highest bidder, of course….or perhaps your former masters?"

Han turned ashen.

In the end, Jabba decided he needed more time to ponder Solo's fate. The unresisting Corellian was returned to his cell and bindings. As soon as the manacles were removed and he was strapped down he began to cough violently, his lean frame trying to fold in on itself. Lizard-face ignored him and left, and, finally, gasping and spent, Han let the blackness overtake him.


	4. Tatooine

Imitation of Life

By: Syntyche

Disclaimers, rating, and any other useful information located in the first chapter of the story. Feedback is always appreciated, either through reviews or at: . Thanks!

"Han? Han, wake up. Please, Han, you must wake up."

It was a voice he didn't want to hear. He was afraid of what she would say to him.

"Han, please."

She was shaking him gently, and there was worry in her husky tone. Han considered waking. He didn't want to cause her to worry, didn't want to be the one who made pain roughen her beautiful voice.

"There isn't much time, Han. Please."

But he was worried. He had failed her, and they both knew it. He hadn't protected her at all. He had led them straight into a trap.

Still, he couldn't bear to hear the worry – worry for _him_ – and her continued shaking of his shoulder was making his head spin. Gingerly, he cracked one hazel eye.

"Leia?"

She sighed in explosive relief, flashing him a quick, bright grin that lit her dark eyes. Han's breath caught in his throat; he hadn't really believed he would ever see her again, and the moments after he'd been decarbonized and later in Jabba's throne room seemed like far-away sketches of a nightmare. She wore a desert cloak; presumably over the … attire … he'd seen her in earlier, and she carried a beaker of water and another hypospray. Even with her long auburn hair bundled at the nape of her neck and the garish makeup that matched her dancing girl's costume adorning her petite features, she was beautiful.

"Here, sit up," she said gently, the worry not quite gone from her face. She pressed the release for his bindings – though he could have done it quite easily himself, if he wished – and maneuvered one small hand underneath his back to help him sit up, ignoring for the moment his trembling and struggles not to cause another fit of coughing. "Drink this."

He complied. It was warm and tasted like rainwater (_on _Tatooine_?? Solo, you are losing it_), but he drank it eagerly anyway – perhaps a little too, and his stomach ached from his rushing.

"Are you strong enough to move?" she questioned, her eyes darting toward the door. "We don't have much time; I've got to get you out of here."

"Where's Chewie?" Han asked slowly, stretching his legs carefully over the side of the pallet. "Jabba said he was here."

"Lando's taking care of him," Leia replied, quickly holding up a hand to forestall Han's automatic protest. "He's been helping, Han," she explained. "He helped us escape from Vader, and he's been here for months disguised as one of Jabba's guards, waiting for Fett in case we lost track of him on the way. Really, Han," she smiled, "see? You were right after all. He didn't have any choice but to go along with Vader, but he's helped up every step of the way since then."

Han's eyes were still narrowed in suspicion. "I sure as hell would have done everything _I_ could to keep from betraying my friends."

Leia smiled indulgently. "I know. There were all the citizens of Cloud City to think about, though." Her expression changed. "Han, we have to hurry."

Han's mouth tightened and he stood slowly, coughed, and leaned slightly on Leia. "Okay. Leia," he hesitated. "Leia, in case we don't manage to pull this off … I … I'm sorry, sweetheart, for messing up in the first place." He couldn't quite meet her eyes, and concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other to the doorway.

"It's all right, Han," Leia replied. "I shouldn't have relied on your intelligence."

Surprised, Han looked up to meet her eyes – and wished he hadn't. Her normally warm brown eyes were hard and cold as she surveyed him. "A two-credit smuggler in debt up to your eyeballs; no money, no cause, no loyalty."

Han froze, thinking at first maybe she was teasing, but she continued on, each cruelly spoken word hitting home.

"What good did you think you were to the Alliance, anyway? You couldn't even keep your hunk of junk running – if you'd done a decent job repairing it, we wouldn't have been in Cloud City in the first place."

He stared at her dumbly until all he could hear was the roaring his ears. He couldn't believe this was happening.

She sighed. "Now that I think about it, you're no good to anyone, especially in this condition. What are we going to do with you?"

Han's stomach dropped as she retrieved the hypospray she'd brought with her, lifting it to hollow at the base of his throat. He tried to back away, but his body responded too slowly. _Oh, no, Leia, please, no, don't, what are you saying? I'm sorry, please ……_

His disjointed thoughts trailed away with the hiss of the hypospray.

"Get up, Ssssolo."

He didn't want to, really. If he just closed his eyes and stayed asleep, he could believe this was all some horrible nightmare he was trapped in, and if he could just wake up – but not to the sound of Lizard-face – he'd be whole and healthy and well, and none of this would ever have happened.

"I've been ordered to move you to the Wookiee's cell to quiet him down."

That jolted him a little. Well, that was stupid. Jabba deserved what was coming to him if he was going to put him with Chewie. No four walls had been able to hold them yet. He felt a little revived knowing he would see his partner again, and that Chewie was alive.

Lizard-face pressed the button that undid the restraints, and Han eased himself up groggily, shooting a dark glare at the guard just for good measure. Upright, he assessed himself quickly. He was sweating profusely, the moisture leaking from his skin to dampen his hair and shirt and chill him in the cool air of the underground room. He continued to tremble, and his stomach growled despite his nausea. In short, he felt terrible. At least he seemed to have gotten the urge to cough under control.

Except that the thought started the tickle again in the back of his throat. Han suppressed a tired groan.

"I'm ready," he affirmed, taking a rather wobbly step in the general direction of the door. He was feeling worse after Leia's second hypo, but maybe it was the untreated hibernation sickness.

He walked in silent concentration through the dark labyrinth of rooms, stubborn pride keeping his feet moving as his body begged him to rest.

"We there yet?" he finally inquired casually, hoping it wouldn't throw him into another coughing spasm.

In reply, Lizard-face led him through a door and down a dimly marked corridor. Species familiar and alien to the Corellian jeered and jabbered from their various cells as he passed – a few of the prisoners he even knew, and ignored their jubilant, mocking laughter as they recognized him in return.

Stopping before a door near the end of the row, Lizard-face entered a key code into the pad by the door, covering the interior of the room with his blaster as he motioned Han forward. Han swept the cell with his eyes quickly before stepping in – it wouldn't be unlike Jabba to throw him in with the Hutt's pet rancor instead of Chewie. He could only see a single ray of light illuminating the center of the small cell, and nothing in the dark shadows beyond. Impatiently, the lizard-guard planted a hand in the small of Han's back and shoved hard, propelling the already unsteady Corellian into the cell and nearly off his feet. Han barely managed to salvage his balance. It was savagely cold in here – or at least it felt that way to him. He was fast fading, the prolonged march doing nothing to ease his illness. He hugged his arms around himself tightly, remembering suddenly that Chewie was supposed to be here.

A low growl emanated from one of the darkened corners of the room, and the shivering Corellian risked a hopeful, "Chewie?"

A familiar rumble was his reply, and Han sagged in relief as furry arms caught him up as easily as if he'd weighed nothing and took his weight off his sore feet. A barrage of questions from the Wookiee pounded at him, and Han's tired mind slowly clicked the Wookan into a language he could reply in. He began to relate what had happened to him, but a questioning growl from the Wookiee made him realize he had answered in Corellian. Han sighed, his head dropping onto his chest.

"I feel terrible," he admitted. "Chewie, we, we have to get out of here." A sudden, overwhelming sadness would have sent him to his knees without the Wookiee's supportive grip around his shoulders. "Leia. Chewie, she … " Words failed him to accurately describe the heartache of her words and actions. "Ah, Chewie," He rested his aching head against the Wookiee's strong chest, feeling the strains and pain of the day settling atop his shoulders like an oppressive cloak. "I don't know who to trust anymore, pal," he whispered. He wished he believed himself when he mumbled, "We're better off on our own, though, you know?" Amidst Chewbacca's comforting rumbles, Han closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep.


	5. 5 Tatooine

**Imitation of Life**

**By: Syntyche**

Part Five

He awoke some time later, sitting on the hard bench with his head pillowed on Chewbacca's arm. He wondered if it was a good idea he was sleeping so much – but maybe the natural sleep would wear out the drug-induced sleep, which would wear out the hibernation sickness, which would, uh … his muddled line of thought trailed off, and confused, Han shook his head, which set it spinning and him into another coughing fit.

"Chewie?" he called breathlessly between gasping coughs. The Wookiee moved by his side, steadying him and rubbing small circles on his back, comforting him until the worst of it passed and he was heaving for breath.

"Chewie, I think I'm dying," he murmured, only half-seriously. Chewbacca, however, seemed to think he was entirely solemn in his pronouncement. He nodded his satisfaction.

"Then the life-debt will be completed."

Following the line of thought, Han nodded slowly, confused, but a sinking feeling reasserted itself in his stomach. "Yeah. I guess it would."

"I can return home," Chewbacca continued cheerfully.

_Oh, no_. Han was beginning to feel like he was trapped in a nightmare he simply couldn't wake up from. "Chewie?"

"I'll be glad to be rid of the burden of you," Chewie said, almost conversationally. Han squeezed his eyes shut tight, wishing he could curl into a ball without triggering another coughing spasm.

"Reckless, hardheaded, stubborn … "

Not again. _Please_.

"You wouldn't have had to _save_ my life if you hadn't endangered it in the first place."

_That wasn't my fault_, Han wanted to protest, but the excuse sounded lame to his own ears. Maybe not that first time, but plenty of times after that. Chewie was right.

"Chewie, I – "

"Save it, Solo." The Wookan came tumbling out so fast Han's mind worked overtime, rebelliously translating words he didn't want to hear. "We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Why we bothered looking for so long, I don't know. It must have been the Princess."

"She didn't want me either," Han said dully, pushing himself away from the Wookiee to retreat to a far corner of the cell.

"You shouldn't be surprised, cub," Chewbacca commented sagely. "Neither did your clan."

Han blanched at that, feeling the blood rushing from his face to pool in his boots. "That's not true," he whispered. "It isn't."

"Isn't it?" Chewbacca's snarl was distinctly snide. "Then why did they leave you? Or maybe they didn't leave you at all – maybe they were the ones who sold you the first time. Were they?"

"_No_," Han shook his head in horror, disbelieving the cruel words coming from the one he'd believed his only true friend in the galaxy. His head spun mercilessly and his stomach felt like it was twisted in aching, jagged knots.

Chewbacca shrugged casually. "Suit yourself. You were too young to really remember, anyway, weren't you?"

Han was sinking, sinking to his knees and into the blackness that was rushing through his mind. He barely heard Chewbacca's sudden loud announcement that he didn't care to share a cell with the Corellian any longer, and when the guards came to drag him away he didn't resist. He was ill, confused, and completely alone.

-----

He lay listlessly, re-strapped to the steel pallet, trying to think about nothing at all. It had occurred to him that the "old" Han Solo would try to do something about his situation – blast his way out, at the very least, but this Han Solo was sick, tired, and almost completely disheartened. There was one tiny ember of defiance that burned in his brain without his consent; he found he could do little about this except address it with annoyance. He didn't _want _to be defiant. He simply wanted Jabba to get on with whatever he had planned and let him leave this hell of betrayal and confinement.

Chewbacca was right about him. He had been sold before. Several times, in fact. The recollection made Han's blood slide like ice through his veins, clenching at and enveloping his heart in a panicked, frozen grip. They were memories he tried to quell, to bury deep down where they could never get out, and he never, ever spoke of them to anyone. He didn't know how Chewie had known. But here in the dark, with only his pain and fear to keep him company, they began to punch at the walls he had so carefully constructed. His most hated memory, that of the prison world Eskara, rose up to meet him and Han bit his lip to keep a whimper from escaping; but in the end, he bleakly squelched his defiance and let the memories batter and beat him until he was exhausted. Bloodied in spirit, his body sagged against the restraints. His fingers, slack in his disinterest, brushed the release button on his pallet side, but after an initial surprised start, he ignored it and moved his hand away.


	6. 6 Corellia

Imitation of Life

By Syntyche

Part Two

Chapter 6: Corellia

"Daddy? Daddy, _wake up!!_" The voice was insistent through the blackness, and Han Solo squeezed his eyes shut tighter and threw his arms over his head, twisting over and expecting to shake himself out of his fever dreams as he came into contact with his bindings and cold metal in Jabba's dungeon.

It didn't happen. Instead, he had the luxurious sensation of stretching his long frame full-length against an incredible softness and burrowing his face into deep, plush cushion. He froze, eyes snapping open to confront a wall of calm white – not cold, unrelenting black and grey. That, more than the voice, jolted him upright. Wide-eyed, Han stared at the dark-haired little girl who had stepped back in surprise at his sudden, explosive movement.

"Daddy?" she asked carefully, coming closer to press against the couch and peering at him with eyes that were Han Solo green-gold-brown. "Did I scare you?"

Too stunned to speak, too stunned to really do more than stare, Han continued to study the girl with detached interest, noting and logging little details: he estimated her age at roughly six Standard years, and distinctly Corellian features marked her small, oddly familiar face.

_I must be dreaming. She's the splitting image of_ …

"Well, 'Daddy,' are you going to nap the day away, or answer your little girl?"

Han's breathing stilled, and he didn't dare lift eyes that matched the little girl's before him to meet the owner of the new voice. Instead, he stalled for time by glancing around his surroundings. The room was done in shades of neutral tans and beiges; the furniture soft, white plush. Lamps were present, but powered off; the sunlight streaming in through the slit window blinds provided sufficient, warm illumination. Two- and three-dimensional photo cubes adorned end tables and shelves lined with books and manuals. There was a sweet smell in the air he couldn't quite place, but many flickering candles were placed on the window sills, and it was from them the pleasant aroma emanated.

"Well?"

The woman the voice belonged to gently pushed the little girl aside to kneel in front of Han, and her face took on a worried look. "Han? Han, what's wrong?"

Han could only shake his head in disbelief. One minute he had been literally dying, confined in the blackness of Jabba's underground dungeon, betrayed by people he had called friends, and the next …

The two before him, the woman and the little girl, still waited, watching him warily, and he in turn, finally returning his gaze to them, eyed them with trepidation and making no move to speak.

The woman finally spoke. "Tansa, would you check on your brother, please?"

The little girl nodded sorrowfully but dutifully and began to walk away. Han tracked her with his eyes as she paused at the door.

"Mama, I want to stay with Daddy." Her small bottom lip quivered. "Please?"

The woman looked set to argue, but Han, curious beyond his wariness, intervened.

"No, it's okay."

His voice was rough from lack of use, but he was pleased to hear that it worked … until he saw the confusion on the little girl's face. She mock-frowned at him.

"Daddy, you know I can't understand when you talk in languages I don't know yet."

Han was surprised, but at a worried, questioning look from the woman, he thought for a moment, and then repeated himself in Corellian. The little girl – Tansa – smiled widely, and rushed back into the room, springing at Han with a flying pounce. He caught her easily, and for some reason, couldn't resist tickling her just a little, until she squirmed in his arms and begged him between giggles to stop. He complied with a small smile, setting her upright on his lap, feeling a little unnerved by her serious gaze.

"What?"

Tansa pushed the tousled, light hair back from his forehead with her little hands, eyeing him carefully before speaking. "I'm sorry for waking you up, Daddy. I – I thought you were sick again and would go away again. You were gone for a long time, Daddy." Her hazel eyes were immeasurably sad. "I missed you."

Han risked a glance upwards at the woman; she had moved to the background, arms crossed and watching him anxiously, but she didn't speak.

Han drew a deep breath – without effort, he noted in surprised relief – and immediately felt odd for being startled. Why had it been hard to breathe before? He couldn't really remember now. "Sweetheart … Tansa," he said the name carefully, "I'm sorry … for … for scaring you," he said cautiously.

The little girl nodded. "Mama said you were very sick and needed to rest, but I … I was worried about you."

Han quirked a half-smile, though he didn't have a clue as to what the little girl was talking about. "It's okay. I'm sure your mother knows what's best, though. Tell you what … maybe you ought to check on your brother for me, huh?" He repeated the woman's earlier words, hoping they were right. The little girl responded by throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

"I don't want to, Daddy," she murmured softly.

Han glanced up at the woman who continued to watch, saying nothing, before returning his attention to the little girl. "Why not, honey?"

"Because," she whispered, sniffling a little, "if I leave, you'll go away again. If I stay here and hold you, you can't leave, Daddy, can you? Please, Daddy,"

"Ah, sweetheart," he breathed. This wasn't his life – couldn't be his life – but he couldn't bear the sadness in the little face. He embraced her tightly, then blew a raspberry into her neck. She giggled and he returned a small smile before leveling a serious gaze into her bright eyes. "Listen, munchkin, I'll be here. I promise. But I want to talk to your … mother … for a minute, okay?"

The girl's brow furrowed. "Promise?" She extended her smallest finger. Han eyed it cautiously, unsure of her actions.

"I promise, sweetheart."

Again the tiny finger was put forth for his scrutiny. "Pinky swear, Daddy."

Han frowned dubiously and carefully extended his own finger, which Tansa promptly linked with hers and shook vigorously, sealing Han's promise. She bestowed a quick kiss on her father's slightly crooked nose before squirming off his lap and out the door without a backward glance, apparently appeased by the solemn pinky swear. Han watched her go, a faint smile tingeing his lips.

"She loves you very much."

Han didn't look away from the arched doorway his 'daughter' had disappeared into. "Do I love her?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, you do, Han, very much so. Her and her brother, both."

His heart tightened and his already low voice dropped to a confused whisper. "And do I love you?" he asked, bringing questioning eyes to bear on the woman, one eyebrow rising slightly.

The woman finally dropped her arms and crossed the sunlit room to slump on the couch beside him, much more comfortable with his nearness than he was with hers. "At least enough to create _two_ of the little monsters," she said, with a very _Corellian_ grin. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

His breath was suddenly tight in his throat, and the feeling reminded him of something important, something vaguely terrifying that he simply couldn't place, but should remember. He let his breath out slowly, pushing the oppressive thoughts aside, and admitted the realization that had startled him when he'd first set eyes on the little girl, "She looks just like you, Kellan." A well of pain crested in him as he finally said her name, the name that had never left his thoughts, his heart, all through … what?? Damn it, it was hard to think. But then she smiled again, and his confusion dissipated and he could only think of her … she was as beautiful as he remembered ….

"Nah," Kellan murmured depreciatingly. "She has her father's eyes,"

"And her mother's ears," Han teased with a lightness that was creeping in despite his best efforts. Suddenly uncomfortable with his lapse in caution, he pushed off the couch, wobbling for a moment on unsteady legs. He waved off Kellan's offer of assistance and hesitantly made his way to one of the large windows. A look outside confirmed his wary suspicion: there was no mistaking the graceful spires that adorned the skyline of Corellia's capital city. Coronet was just as lovely as he recalled it, practically unchanged since his court-martial and subsequent expatriate to Eskara nearly a decade and a half ago. Memories of his home and childhood began to crowd in on him, and Han swallowed hard, trying to keep the ghosts at bay. It was too much. It was too much to be home; though the stars always called to him, Corellia, despite the memory of heartache endured and the dangers and pains of his life here, would always be home; it was in his blood. But he had been forced to leave here, and warned never to return. Hadn't he?


End file.
